


'Til It Was A Battle Cry

by Lady_Vibeke



Series: Cara Dune & Din Djarin: Tales of Two Space Idiots in Love [25]
Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Developing Relationship, F/M, Falling In Love, Idiots in Love, Introspection, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, They Don't Talk About It™
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:27:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25381582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Vibeke/pseuds/Lady_Vibeke
Summary: When people ask –when,notif,because people do ask quite often – they just brush it off with with a glare or a sharp reply that normally settles the issue. It doesn't stop people from staring and getting ideas, however, and the sort ofideaspeople have is very clear to both Din and Cara, who still won't say a word about it, for reasons that neither of them can really grasp when they think about it.Life is surprisingly easy, since they've been sharing it, and they're just content to take what they get, because it's still more than they could have dreamed of.They're side by side during the day, searching, fighting, and they're still side by side when the night falls and all they have is their sore limbs and each other's caring hands kneading into the knots in their neck and shoulders, melting the ache and the tension away. They're still side by side when they fall asleep in a bunk too small for two and yet somehow not small enough to justify how tightly they hold on to each other.[ Words are overrated. They don't need them to know what they have is special and unprecedented. ]
Relationships: Baby Yoda (The Mandalorian TV) & Cara Dune & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV), Cara Dune/The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)
Series: Cara Dune & Din Djarin: Tales of Two Space Idiots in Love [25]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1709416
Comments: 28
Kudos: 94





	'Til It Was A Battle Cry

**Author's Note:**

> Today was supposed to be my "catch up with comments" day, and I did catch up with everything (I hope?) but this one showed up in my brain and guess what? I'm only here to serve my muse, I'm just a humble vessel.

> _It started out as a feeling  
>  Which then grew into a hope  
>  Which then turned into a quiet thought  
>  Which then turned into a quiet word  
>  _ _And then that word grew louder and louder  
>  'til it was a battle cry_
> 
> — The Call, Regina Spektor

  
  


***

  
  


They don't talk about it.

It floats in the space between them unspoken, unacknowledged, but strong and vibrant enough to pull them closer than necessary when the day ends and there is too much tiredness and too little willpower to just fight it. There is no harm in the mutual comfort they get from simply sitting together, eating together, drinking together, or, really, even just standing side by side outside the Razor Crest to watch the sun setting beneath the horizon.

There is him, and there is her, and there is this strange kid they're raising day by day not really knowing what they're doing. They try, they fail, they laugh, they try again. The kid laughs with them.

She didn't say anything when he got back to Nevarro with some lame excuse and asked her if she would consider leaving her life there to leave with him.

He didn't say anything when she pretended to give him a hard time, only to ask him to help her gather her shockingly few belongings and carry them to the Crest.

Neither says anything, now, weeks later, at how their personal spaces seem to have progressively shrunk and their bodies can't seem to find their peace until their thighs are touching when they sit together, until their hands brush over one another as they walk.

When people ask – _when,_ not _if,_ because people do ask quite often – they just brush it off with with a glare or a sharp reply that normally settles the issue. It doesn't stop people from staring and getting ideas, however, and the sort of _ideas_ people have is very clear to both Din and Cara, who still won't say a word about it, for reasons that neither of them can really grasp when they think about it.

Life is surprisingly easy, since they've been sharing it, and they're just content to take what they get, because it's still more than they could have dreamed of.

They're side by side during the day, searching, fighting, and they're still side by side when the night falls and all they have is their sore limbs and each other's caring hands kneading into the knots in their neck and shoulders, melting the ache and the tension away. They're still side by side when they fall asleep in a bunk too small for two and yet somehow not small enough to justify how tightly they hold on to each other.

“We're too old to keep playing this game for much longer,” Cara murmurs into Din's neck one night they're lying only half awake, too exhausted to even get to sleep.

There is a bittersweet edge to her tone, something he easily recognises as a feeling he can sympathise with: melancholy.

It's not quite sadness, not really. If he had to explain it by the way he experiences it on his own skin, he'd define it as a coat of frost lingering upon his soul, cold and tangible but not entirely unpleasant or unwelcome.

When they're together, this funny thing happens and the heat each of them gives off reaches the other one and thaws one more layer of frost, thin as it might be. The thing is, several thin layers, with time, make a whole wall, and by the time they realised all walls and ice were gone there was not much left to do but to look at each other, not without a bit of shock, and shrug.

So here they are now, tangled in something more intricate than anything they've ever faced. It's a three-way mess involving an emotionally starved man, an emotionally scarred woman, and a sweet, needy baby they grew to love as unwillingly as they grew to love each other.

“Is this a game to you?” he asks, feigning a hurt tone.

Cara's back shakes with a silent laughter again his chest.

“You prefer pastime? Diversion?”

“You're tired,” he breathes against her neck, “shut up before you blurt something you'll regret.”

She grumbles something he doesn't catch and turns around in his arms to settle against his chest.

“Okay,” she mumbles with a small yawn. “Let's grow old like this, stubbornly rotting in denial.”

There is always an undertone of staggering seriousness lurking beneath their jokes. It's the safest way they have to process the ever-shifting shape of the feelings binding them together. It's a constant struggle with rationality for them both, a push and pull between the brain and the heart often ending in a compromise – looks instead of words, touches instead of kisses, desperate, hungry closeness instead of intimacy,

“I warn you,” says Cara, rubbing her cheek over his chest, the wet warmth of her mouth dangerously close to his sensitive nipple, “I won't be this hot forever. I'll be gray and wrinkly at some point and you won't want me to lie with you like this.”

Din's hand comes to rest on top of her head as his lips brush briefly upon her temple.

“I beg to differ,” he grins.

So many things have been implied between the lines here and there, ever since their first meeting on Sorgan, though at the time both of them had chalked up the subtle hints to the thrill of meeting a charming stranger. Who could have imagined that strangers would grow into friends and friends into... unspeakable things.

Unspeakable only as to words, apparently, because their bodies speak out loud even when they refuse to communicate, and this moment right now is just yet another proof of that – how Din's hand seeks the warmth of Cara's skin beneath her shirt, how she presses her neck back against his lips to steal a kiss they will never refer to as a kiss so much as an accident. One of the many, as it is.

Sometimes they wonder if it's still an accident if they see it coming and do nothing to stop it. The most logical answer would still be that it can't be an accident if both parts want it to happen, but they're too busy trying to keep what they have _out_ of a very wide and complex box labelled as _'Love'_ to pay much attention to semantics.

Everything feels like too small a concept to encase their predicament, anyway. They like things are they are, spontaneous and free, and if more should happen, one day, then be it. They're not going to force the natural progression of whatever _this_ is by rushing it.

Din nuzzles his face into her naked shoulder, pushing the wide neckline of her shirt out of the way with his chin. Her skin smells like citrus, and it's soft and hot and begs to be kissed. He nudges a knee between her legs and Cara pliantly adjusts to the new position with a soft, content moan that resonates deep into Din's chest, spreading a flare of warmth down to his loins.

“Don't do that,” he almost chokes.

“Do what?” she inquires innocently as she wiggles closer. Her foot drags lazily over his ankle and calf while her arm curls farther across his waist.

“ _That,”_ he groans at the nonchalant press of her hips against his.

Cara chuckles and mercifully stops.

“ _You_ sneaked between my legs, you know?”

“That was a poorly considered move, I'll admit that,” he grins against her hair. He tries ignore that this is yet another instance of how something can't be entirely accidental when it brings so much mutual pleasure.

“You never do anything poorly,” she mutters back. Din can feel a smile stretch her lips against his chest. “Not even when you're distracted,” she adds with a light nudge of her hips that has him hiss under his breath.

“Shut that smug mouth of yours and go to sleep, Dune,” he chides. His hand slips up and down her back under her shirt, caressing the smooth valley along her spine. He feels her relax under his touch and a small sigh escapes her lips when he starts rubbing soothing circles over the small of her back.

She murmurs something unintelligible – _'Kriff you',_ he thinks he hears – but the faint flutter of her lashes against his chest tells Din she's finally closed her eyes.

It's the rhythm of her breath gradually slowing down that rocks him toward sleep, at last. It's comforting – and admittedly ironic – to fall asleep like this, with Cara pressed upon his heart, keeping him grounded and helping him convince himself that the thin line between dreams and reality they've been tiptoeing on is quickly losing its dream-like quality and is starting to feel more and more real every day.

The way they play with each other is for deeper emotions they acknowledge but not quite feel like confronting just yet. They know they're there, they allow themselves to feel them, to express them, only not in ways most people would consider proportioned to the feelings behind them.

Din and Cara don't care about that. They know how to read even the smallest gesture and know how much love and tenderness can fit into a steamy cup of caf in the early morning, in a soft _'You shower first'_ whispered at the end of a rough day. Leave the fireworks and the expensive gifts and the big words to shallow lovers; what they have doesn't need any of those.

What they have is sincere and true without anyone screaming it through the wind. It doesn't need to be loud and noisy to be real. They like it as it is, quiet and discreet, free, unchained, and what it will be of them is theirs an no one else's to decide.

They don't talk about it and there's no need to.

Words couldn't be as eloquent as this is: the silence, the peace, the warmth they find in one another.

Words couldn't say _'I love you'_ half as loud and clear as two lonely, broken souls quietly but steadily becoming _one._

**Author's Note:**

> Can I just say how happy I am by how warmly my beloved Tin Jarrin' aka Cando was received? :D I'm trying to get a real life mini Cando for my balcony (my BFF [electrageira](https://archiveofourown.org/users/electrageira/pseuds/electrageira) is on it). Stay tuned, I'll show you what we end up with! :D
> 
> This was as lame and as pointless as usual, but who needs an actual plot when we can have two beautiful dorks being so stupidly soft and in love? Not us, right?
> 
> Also, I've just realised I've never done this before and maybe some of you guys would like to have a fangirling chat on Tumblr? [Here I am!](https://beautiful-thensad-thensadder.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Also #2: a big shout out to those amazing people who came to say hi to me in the comment threads of the King Bebeh wonderful edits! Shipping does bring people together! <3


End file.
